Short Collections
by Anniexus
Summary: Just a place to post short compilations about Chakotay and/or Seven of Nine that don't develop into full stories (for various reasons). Enjoy, but don't expect masterpieces. Reviews are always (always!) appreciated.
1. Chapter 1 - Daydreamers

Daydreamers: I own nothing and make no money off of it, just personal enjoyment.

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The Doctor had almost lost his life, or the semblance of life, and endangered the ship with his attempts to alter his programming. It wasn't the first time and it wasn't likely to be the last.

"You know," ruminated the Doctor, "as unfortunate as my experiments were, I am glad I had the opportunity to daydream for a while." He turned to the woman he was running a weekly maintenance exam on.

"Daydreaming is a frivolous waste of time," said Seven dismissively.

"Yes, I know you think so, but it doesn't have to be. The Captain said it helps humans understand scenarios in a different light." The Doctor smiled, gratified by Captain Janeway's words to him and her consideration in his deep embarrassment. It had been two weeks since his daydreaming experiments and the danger caused by his dreams were dealt with.

Seven finished her exam with Voyager's physician, managing to satisfy his need to chat without providing any of her own honest opinions. If he'd recognized her perfunctory answers to his self-interested questions, then he'd given no hint or pressed for explanation. If anyone were to have asked, the Doctor would have had to admit that her distraction had escaped his notice.

Being Borg, even part Borg, wasn't much like being human. Her Borg body required regeneration every few days, though she could sleep if she desired. She could think of several things at once, analyze and interpret data at a faster rate, and hold more information than any other human being. Thanks to her Borg implants she had extra strength, greater sensitivity to sensory input, enhanced stamina, and almost no frame of reference with which to relate to the rest of the crew. Seven was aware of all this, especially in moments like this. The Doctor prattled on about his foray into human experience and she could do nothing but listen and feel her own conflicting emotions then stifle those feelings until she appeared as robotically detached as usual.

Astrometrics was empty when the doors slid open for Seven's return. She was glad for the solitude.

Duplicity wasn't a natural component of Seven's nature, but she had lied and lied recently. There was a prickling of guilt as she thought about her most recent fib, the one she'd told the Doctor.

Despite her dismissal of his attempts to become more humanized, Seven too was guilty of daydreaming. She just hadn't had the misfortune of having her fantasies displayed for the whole crew. There was no way to fully articulate her gratitude for that. She could handle being the object of the Doctor's fantasy, her amusement and pragmatism overriding the majority of her embarrassment. However, she would not be amused if the crew knew her own mental conjuring.

The cultivation of her imagination had started with Captain Ransom's appearance, more specifically with the torture he inflicted on Seven. Captain Ransom had kidnapped Seven and the Doctor and ordered Seven to be dissected so he could get the encryption codes she'd used to disable his ship. She had been pulled mostly apart by the Doctor, whose ethical subroutines were deleted to make him compliant. It had been painful and drawn out, and Seven had been fairly certain she would die.

In the end, Seven had forgiven the wayward leader. She wasn't heartless and she'd seen for herself the danger he and his crew faced. What wouldn't she do for her own Collective, the humans who rescued her from the Borg? Her refusal to give up the codes even in the face of such a death proved she could comprehend Ransom's actions better than most.

How had Ransom led Seven to daydream?

Lying on the medical bed, being taken apart by her own friend, Seven had nothing to do but try to escape the emotional and physical pain. Without his ethical subroutines, the Doctor hadn't bothered with painkillers, not that any had been plentiful on the damaged ship. As she'd retreated into her own mind, Seven had plenty of opportunity to review Ransom's motives. When she'd exhausted the topic and realized her empathy, she'd had to move on to something else. Seven turned her mind to Voyager. She thought about the crew, imagined their faces and hoped they had survived and were safe.

Once a faucet in the mind is turned on, it's almost impossible to stop. Such was the case with Seven's daydreaming. She had enough control to keep her mind on her tasks and operate as usual, but on an increasingly regular basis she would review certain interactions she'd had with the crew and imagine how else the situation could have played out.

The doors slid open behind her and Seven glanced back to see Commander Chakotay. He smiled and she nodded, handing him her daily report; it was their ritual. It was a routine Seven had noted him repeating throughout the ship almost from the day she became an individual. Seven had quickly realized Chakotay liked to get away from his post and stretch his legs. So, he collected the reports of each section personally instead of downloading them from the computer. Though it wasn't the most efficient habit, Seven couldn't disparage the practice. The rest of the crew perked up when they saw him, taking comfort in his steady and amiable presence. Often they would talk about personal things or issues they didn't want put into a report. To her own surprise, Seven grew to enjoy his visits even if she rarely engaged him in conversation.

"How did your exam go?" Chakotay asked, standing a little away from Seven and glancing down at her report.

"I am functioning within normal parameters, Commander." She was already immersed in her work again. She tacked on a hasty, "Thank you for asking."

Chakotay nodded and, satisfied with the interaction, left to do the rest of his rounds. "I'll talk to you later."

Seven glanced behind her as the doors swooshed closed on his form. She sighed and wondered what would have happened if she'd engaged him in a complete conversation…


	2. Chapter 2 - Hitting Means They Like You

Hitting Means They Like You

Every chef has a secret. This could be one of Seven's…

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It was a secret they kept from Captain Janeway for a long time. Due to the habit of gossiping on the relatively small ship, they had to keep it from the rest of the crew as well. It simply wouldn't do anyone any favors to have their meetings become public knowledge.

Their nightly meetings began innocently enough and over one of the most innocuous subjects possible: salad.

"Is there something wrong?" Seven asked. She stared expectantly at Chakotay, who was smirking.

"No, everything is perfect."

She quirked a brow in question.

"I was just thinking of the first time we started doing this." Chakotay gestured to the dinner in front of them. They sat in the mess hall, which had emptied of patrons about an hour earlier. A selection of vegetables, salad, rice, replicated chicken (which Chakotay admitted he wasn't opposed to), and creamy sauces lay spread out on the table between them.

"Indeed?" Seven shared his smirk briefly. "What made you think of it?"

"It's the same salad Kathryn tried to serve me." He didn't quite manage to keep a straight face as he looked across the table at Seven, thinking how grateful he was that Seven's drive for perfection extended into cooking.

"Does this version meet your expectations?" If anyone besides Seven asked such a question, it would have been coy, but she was serious.

"No." His smirk became a warm and grateful smile. "Everything exceeds expectations. It always does."

Though their dinner continued in silence after that, Seven and Chakotay fell into contemplating the same evening, unaware how similar their thoughts were.

It had all started on a calm, rather anticlimactically dull day when Captain Kathryn Janeway attempted to serve her first officer yet another ruined meal. The fish was bland and underdone, the steamed vegetables soggy and bereft of most of their color. The salad she'd presented had been so saturated with a sour dressing that Chakotay had wondered if Janeway was trying to torture him for some misdeed.

After his inedible dinner with Kathryn, Chakotay wandered into the mess hall, intending to grab a bite of whatever Neelix had left from that evening's service. The indigestion from Talaxian cooking seemed preferable to starvation.

It was in his moment of gastrointestinal weakness that Chakotay encountered Seven indulging in a guilty pleasure of her own: she'd made herself dinner. Since he first introduction to the culinary arts by Neelix, Seven had taken the opportunity her late nights provided to cultivate her cooking skills and provide herself with meals that were both nutritious and pleasant. It wasn't a nightly ritual since she appreciated the efficiency and value of a nutritional protein shake as much as a pot roast. However, her timing and his had collided that night and produced a weekly meeting that was fueled more by anticipation than ritualism.

Chakotay had walked in on Seven just setting down to a simple, but impeccably prepared meal of peppers with cheese, spaghetti and garlic bread. Chakotay's mouth had watered at the sight of it and before he knew it, he'd begged to join her. She'd agreed, taking pleasure in his compliments and enthusiastic pleasure. The next week found her in the kitchen preparing another meal - hoping without comprehension as to why it mattered that he would appear – and him eventually searching for something edible. Their weekly dinner was born.

Of course, their habit couldn't be let known to anyone. They both feared hurting Kathryn Janeway's feelings as well as Neelix's should he find out they were enjoying culinary delights that weren't provided by his own hands.

After about a dozen of their dinners, they began to realize other reasons why they shouldn't tell anyone else about it. Nothing got a group of humans talking faster than hints of forbidden romance. Though they never voiced that concern to each other, both Seven and Chakotay contemplated the social implications of their regular meetings and what they would say if their secret was discovered.

Appearances could be deceiving to a crew hungry for gossip.

It took Seven and Chakotay a little longer than they cared to admit to realize that appearances to a crew hungry for gossip could be perfectly accurate as well.

Drawn from his reverie by the clink of Seven's fork on her plate, Chakotay looked up at the beautiful woman with a fond smile. He was moved to think how much time and effort she'd expended just for him with these meals over the many months. Seven was known to prefer her post to socializing so the importance of her presence and dedication to their ritual was impossible to ignore. Kathryn kept up their meetings and cooked – in the loosest sense of the word – more for her own benefit. As a captain, she needed to ensure their relationship remained as stable as possible, if not always amiable, and Kathryn didn't have many other people she could chum with. Cracking jokes and discussing random topics with Chakotay was about as relaxed as Captain Janeway got with her officers. Their dinners were Kathryn's catharsis, not Chakotay's. When he and Seven sat down, it seemed a mutual pleasure.

"Seven," Chakotay began with some hesitation, "are you going to B'Elanna and Tom's baby shower next week?"

"I am uncertain." Her eyes darted up to his face, trying to read his expression. Chakotay looked down and so didn't notice her glance.

"Oh, well, it would be good to see you there." He hid his disappointment over her questionable answer in as light a tone and impersonal response as he could muster. With his mind on attempting to sound nonchalant, he didn't think through his own words or their implication. "You can put the Doctor's lessons to good use if you do." Damn, thought Chakotay with a wince. I didn't mean to say it like that.

"Yes." She looked away. Though teasing about the hologram's social lessons had long since ceased, Seven was conscious of the embarrassment their necessity produced.

More than embarrassment, however, Seven realized she didn't want Chakotay – or anyone – to think of her as a Borg drone fresh from the Collective. There were aspects of herself she was proud of, aspects that would only have been cultivated by being a drone. However, there were enough negative associations and connotations that she had grown to dislike being compared too closely to what she had been when first separated from the Collective. It was one thing to acknowledge the past and quite another to suggest nothing had changed.

"You know it will be a good chance for you to socialize. You spend too much time by yourself." Okay, Chakotay, just take your foot out of your mouth before she hits you. "It's not good." Damnit.

"I am aware of that, but my skills are not the same as yours." She stood abruptly, refusing to meet his regretful gaze. "Please excuse me, Commander. I have an early shift tomorrow."

"Seven, I'm sorry. I didn't mean -"

"Goodnight."

Chakotay watched her leave, unable to think of a response adequate to call her back.

His appetite gone, Chakotay cleared the table, several strains of the same thought rotating in his head: Why the hell did I say that?


End file.
